


Draw Me

by Marvel_ousimagines



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel_ousimagines/pseuds/Marvel_ousimagines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro's hyperactivity doesn't make him the best model for your drawings; however, he's still willing to offer when he catches you sketching him in secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was an imagine requested on my [Tumblr](http://marvel-ousimagines.tumblr.com/).  
> The prompt was: _“HI! I LOVE LOVE LOVE READING YOUR IMAGINES, (ESPECIALLY WINTER WONDERLAND). HOW ABOUT A PROMPT WHERE THE READER IS AN ARTIST (WORKING AS A DESIGNER FOR THE TEAM) AND HAS A CRUSH ON PIETRO - SHE KEEPS SECRETLY TRYING TO DRAW HIM BUT HE WON'T STOP MOVING AROUND. HE FINDS OUT ABOUT IT AND OFFERS TO SIT STILL FOR HER BUT IT DOESN'T QUITE WORK OUT/HE KEEPS WANTING TO LOOK AT THE DRAWING/FLUFF ENSUES ETC ETC. THANKS! :)”_

Fingers dancing across the surface of the page, you wiped away the residue traces of lead your pencil had left speckled on the paper, darting your eyes between the subject of your sketch and the art itself. Tapping the tip of your pencil against the textured sheet of your sketch pad, you began jotting down quick, rapid strokes in an attempt at getting the most basic of gesture drawings down. Working in secret, you had little-to-no time to properly appreciate your handsome subject, especially with how speedily he moved.

Taking advantage of now-relaxed body as he stopped and sat on the couch across from you, you began outlining his impeccable physique and form; the sharp angles of his defined jawline, the soft arches of his lips, the formation of his hair as it curled against his fore-

“What are you working on?” Pietro asked.

Stopping the movement of your hand mid-stroke, you clutched the little booklet to your chest and avoided meeting his blue eyes, tapping your foot against the floor in an erratic rhythm. “Oh- ah- it’s nothing…” you said.

“Oh, you kept looking at me; I thought, maybe, you were drawing me? You’re an artist, no?” He shifted in place, unable to keep still for more than a single second as he questioned you.

Being a designer Tony had hired to help create more efficient armor and “super-suits”, it was in your job description that you needed to gather the body proportions and measurements of each of Stark Tower’s residents. Beyond the occasional pleasantries and smiles, Pietro and you had had little contact with one another; furthermore, you had failed to accomplish even of the most vital of tasks in your aforementioned job description. Seeing him made you grow weak at the knees and flushed in the face, how could you possibly measure his inseam or the circumference of his biceps for your designs?  

“I- yeah, I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop.” You began packing your book away, slipping your pencil in to the metal spirals laced around the top after closing it.

“No, wait!” He said. “I want to see it, please,” he held out his hands, “if you don’t mind, of course.”

“I would, but I didn’t really get much down,” you said. “You kept moving.”

“I’ll sit still, then, and you can draw me,” he said, smiling.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, ah,” he said, thinking about some way to ease your nervousness, “like the American movie about the boat, draw me like one of your French girls?”

Laughing you pulled out your notebook and pencil; you had been warned about his jester-like and charming personality. Although his presence did make you queasy, the classic “butterflies in your stomach” syndrome, you, somehow, still found his personality to be comforting and warm, if not completely friendly.

“Alright, but I don’t know how good it’ll be.  You might want to relax,” you said.  

“I bet it will be perfect, Stark said you do great work,” he said.

“Really?” You asked.

Flipping to an unmarked sheet, you began making quick, little motions with your pencil and creating basic guidelines for his features and position. You begin blocking out an area for his head, glancing back up only to find he had advanced it in to another position. Erasing the infant stages of your sketch, you began again. You were not about to chastise him for his movements, even if they were bothersome, because how often was it that one got the chance to be this close to an Avenger, anyways?

“Yes and my sister loved the design you made for her.” He shifted his arm, moving to rub his nose, and rested it in a new location on the couch.

“I’m glad,” you said, furrowing your brows as you started over for the second time.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you, actually. She said you asked her if she knew my measurements, and the old man Clint, too,” he said, “why didn’t you ask me first?”

“I-I just thought you were busy, I didn’t want to bother you,” you said.

“Busy being bored, maybe, and letting a pretty girl measure me does not sound so bad,” he said, smiling.

Feeling heat rise to your flushing cheeks, you offered a shy smile before focusing on your work. Finally having completed a simple, proportioned sketch of his lounging body, you began filling in the details of his physique before looking up and catching his eager gaze.

“Can I see it yet?” He asked.

You looked down at your rudimentary drawing before shaking your head, “Not yet, it isn’t finished.”

“Oh,” he said. Letting out a bored and hushed huff, you heard as he started tapping the hilt of his tennis-shoes against the wooden floors. Whilst drawing his long and calloused fingers, you noticed he had begun wavering them up and down, as if he were a master pianist playing his most favored piece.

After having completed most of his torso, layering graphite upon graphite to shade it properly, you began hashing out the fine details of his roguishly handsome face. Small specifics like the upward curve of his crooked smile or the minuscule wrinkles laced between his brows didn’t escape your notice as you jotted down the complexity of his features, paying close attention to the angles of his jaw and the deepness of his eyes.

“How about now?” You sighed; he was like a child on a road trip constantly whining about how close he was to his destination.

“Just let me finish your head and I’ll be done,” you said.

Brushing lead and rubber shavings off of your work with a soft blow against the page, you resumed your efforts by drawing the tiny curve of his cupids bow with a heavy hand, properly capturing the pouty look he was giving you now.

His fingers drummed against the fabric of the couch and his legs shook in place, bobbing his shoulders up and down and causing his head to be shifted out of position. Groaning, you began etching out his facial features from memory, not bothering to look up considering he had already thrown you off kilter. You’d spent enough time staring at him to know what his face looked like, at least.

“Done,” you said. Tearing out the sketchbook page with a careful hand, you presented it to him as he relieved his restless limbs from their modeling position and stretched them. Taking it in to his palms, he grinned at you with wonderment plain on his features.

“This is amazing; I can’t believe you drew this!” He looked down at the drawing before bringing it up beside his face, “It looks just like me, no?”

“You really think so?” You asked.

“It is beautiful! Thank you so much, (Y/N), I know I don’t make the best model,” he said, smiling sheepishly as he thought about how much he fidgeted and whined and how aggravated you must have been with him.

“You…know my name?” Mouth slightly agape, you once again felt your stomach turn and your knees grow limp beneath you.

“Of course I do, and I’d like to know more than that. Are you busy tomorrow? Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Brows raised and eyes blown wide, the corners of your lips quirked up in a smile, “I-I’d love to, Pietro.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Smirking, he placed a quick and unexpected peck to your cheek before sauntering off, “And thanks for the drawing.”


End file.
